


Echoes of Wartime

by gruumpy_cat



Series: reckless [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Addiction, Angst, Community: HPFT, Dark, Depression, F/M, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruumpy_cat/pseuds/gruumpy_cat
Summary: I am a dead person pretending to be alive.- Astoria Greengrass
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy
Series: reckless [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581760
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Echoes of Wartime

**Author's Note:**

> alternative summary:
> 
> After the war, Astoria tries to cast a Patronus. Or, three times Astoria tries to cast a Patronus and one time she succeeds.

A candle flickers and suddenly, the shadows are moving. My eyes follow them, the monstrous shapes growing larger, looming over me, the darkness sucking out all the light from the candle and the faint moonlight streaming through my window.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I am paralysed with fear, hand wrapped tightly around my wand, knuckles white and straining. Heart beating fast, thumping loudly against my ribs, the _thump, thump, thump_ growing more and more erratic, my breathing shallow, and I can’t get enough air. My mind sees only the black of the monsters, the crimson of blood, dripping, smearing, and suddenly, my hands are bloody and I scream.

My scream dies when all the shadows merge into one, wrapping around me, my whole body freezing, the window frosted over and my shallow breaths misting in front of my eyes. I can’t look away, I can’t close my eyes and I stare into the deep abyss of the monster, my mind as frozen as my body.

Dead, scarred, bloated bodies float in front of me, missing limbs, cauterized wounds and I smell the burning flesh. Bile and bottomless terror coil inside me as familiar images play themselves over and over again, like a broken record. As broken as my mind. Icy blue eyes, once full of life, stare at me, the dead, blank eyes of my best friend. Rona. They stare, piercing through my skin, they stare at my guilty soul. I don’t know what’s happening but Rona rises from the dead and points a finger at me, full of accusation. I can’t take it and I throw up, but nothing comes out, and I dry heave. My face is wet, full of salty tears and the monster drains me of everything, everything but the terrible bloodshed haunting me.

I manage to blink and somehow, I remember the familiar spell, my hand is still gripping the wand tightly. I can’t get up but I point it at the demon, the dementor, trying to conjure something happy. But as I try, only more bloody images come crashing through me, in a vicious cycle, horrible torture, werewolves tearing off arms and legs and heads, brains spattered around me as I lie in the mud between dead classmates and it’s too much, too fucking much, and I let out another scream.

“ _Ex… Expecto Patronum!_ ”

My hands are trembling and nothing comes out of the wand, the monster coming closer and soon I don’t see anything but the blackness of the abyss. I hear my wand clattering to the floor and I curl up, trying to shield myself but it’s futile and I’m scratching at the monster and it hurts, my skin burning, tearing, pure agony as blood pours out and drenches my clothes, a blinding whiteness exploding in my head and still, I can hear myself screaming, my throat on fire.

I writhe on the floor, a useless, sobbing mess.

And then, I’m assaulted by light, the door of my bedroom is flung open and my father storms in, wand drawn out, his face white as chalk.

I want to yell at him to run away but I can’t talk, I can’t do anything, I just stare up at him through my tousled hair, a broken wreck.

“Is everything… Astoria?” he says, but his voice is somehow distorted and when he crouches down next to me I flinch away from him, my back to the wall. Blood spatters appear on his white shirt when I flail and I look down. My arms are bloody and for a moment I don’t realise that the blood is mine. I have torn my skin, deep cuts all over, one of my veins is slowly being drained of blood, an artery just missed. As my eyes flit across the room, I catch sight of a broken glass next to my wand, a shard still lodged in my left arm and my nails are dripping with blood.

I look up at my father, his eyes full of love and compassion that I do not deserve. “There was a Dementor,” I utter, my voice breaking and I cough, throat sore. The air smells sweet and rusty, overpowering my senses. It is the scent of blood, and, despite the sweetness, it makes my skin crawl and hairs stick up on the back of my neck.

He shakes his head, stowing away his wand and he moves closer, arms out to hug me but I don’t let him. On shaky legs, I pull myself up, my bloody hands leaving scarlet handprints on the white wall, and I walk out, marking my way with bloody footprints as I walk away from the house, into the freezing Scottish night.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get out of that room, out, away from the shadows, the demons of my nightmares, my sins haunting me every step of the way. My dead friends’ faces are burned into my mind. Rona. Jack. Colin. Everyone at the Battle of Hogwarts. House elves. Professors. Children. Giants. Death Eaters. Werewolves. Housemates. Friends. Enemies. _Friends_.

And at the centre of it all, Astoria Greengrass, too sure of herself, cocky, overconfident, hungry for glory and justice, making her friends think they’re cowards, making them sneak back into the fray, leading them to their deaths.

I stop somewhere in the forest behind my childhood home, shaking like a leaf, barefoot, bloody and shattered. Collapsing on the forest floor, I ignore the twigs and branches poking at me and I stare straight ahead, my blonde hair damp from sweat, sticking to my forehead and bare neck. I try again to think of something happy, but all my memories are plagued with guilt. In the black of night, screams still echo in my head.

A warm cloak appears over my shoulders, but I don’t look up. I know it’s my father. He sits down next to me and wraps me in his arms. This time, I let him. And I cry into him, trembling, tears streaming down my face, soaking his shirt. He tries to soothe me but I keep crying and crying until my eyes are dried out and there are no more tears left.

“Dad… Help me,” I say, my voice almost gone from all the screaming, and I’m just a girl who wants her powerful father.

There was no Dementor. Only my fucked up mind. The monster I tried to fight off was myself.

“I can’t bring back your friends. I can’t make the pain go away. Nothing can do that. But I can help you do something with the pain. Channel it and use it. Work for me,” he says, still hugging me close to his body. “Do you want that?”

I want anything that will put me back in control, that will stifle the echoes of my guilt and shame.

“Yes.”

“Your training with Aeschylus will start in the morning.”

And so, knives and curses, the adrenaline of a fight and the shadowy dealings of the criminal underworld become my shield, my constant companions.

* * *

I am a whirlwind of motion, a flurry of curses flying out of my wand, a silver knife lodging itself in the shoulder of one of my attackers, Len, while Aeschylus shoots a curse at Luther. I am all rage and anger, fire and maelstrom, the twin brothers and their lieutenants spreading out, trying to draw me away from cover, from Aeschylus and the rest of our small army.

It is mayhem and chaos, the sounds of a ceiling collapsing somewhere behind me, the grunts and moans of pain mixing with the cacophony of sounds reaching me but I am focused, Demondust numbing the pain and the chaos of my mind, pupils dilated, eyes following Len, the leader, the one who tried to cheat and steal from my father, then kill us, his agile form slinking back through the shadows, knowing the abandoned Kreuzberg warehouse better than I, and I stalk after him, ignoring Aeschylus’ protests and swears. I will not disappoint father and let Len get away.

My footsteps echo, boots rhythmically hitting the concrete underneath, and I wonder about the sudden silence, hearing my own heart beating in my chest and not much else. A crackle here, a rat scurrying there, but I am not alone. I stop and feel someone watching me as I turn around the room, the only light coming from my wand and I murmur ‘Nox’. It would be stupid to make myself an easy target. If they can’t see me in the darkness, they can’t hit me.

Suddenly, I am cold, my insides turning to ice as I feel something getting closer. I can’t see anything except the bleak darkness of moving shadows, can’t smell anything, can’t hear anything, but I know it’s there. Something slithers to my left.

I lash out, try to stun the shadows, but the curse just ricochets off the walls and steel beams overhead. Fear creeps through my spine, entwining me in its paralysing grasp as I remember the last time I felt like this. Helpless and afraid. Alone in the darkness, except for the slithering shadows and my own blood.

Shaking, I clutch my wand and mutter a spell under my breath, a bubble of light pulsing out of it and floating above me, bathing the room with bright light. I blink a couple of times, my eyes unaccustomed to the light, my sight slightly blurry. But I see a black shroud in front of me, gliding ever closer and I am rooted to the spot. I want to scream, but no sound escapes me, my throat constricted, my breathing erratic. The knife falls from my left hand, clattering on the concrete, but I still have my wand.

The bastards let a bloody Lethifold loose on us. On me.

Maybe I’m too high on the Demondust, but I start laughing maniacally while the creature, the shroud of a blackest black, hovers near me, slithering ever closer while I laugh in the precious moments before I die.

I am helpless. Something has died in me since that night when I clawed at my own skin, trying to fight a Dementor that wasn’t there. Instead, I fought with my own torturous mind, the images flickering before me real and imagined horrors, multiplied, strengthened, overpowering. Now, I know it would be futile to even try to fight the monster before me.

There is no happiness left in me. All of it has drained away in the crimson blood of my friends soaking up the ground I once considered home. All that is left, all that I am, is rage and euphoria of a fight. I could fight until there is nothing else left and it would not be enough to quench the thirst I have to thrust myself towards danger. Towards a probable death.

The war never left me. It poisoned my mind, filled my veins with venom and woke up a horde of demons within my soul.

And yet, despite what I know, despite my reckless spirit, I still raise my wand, standing my ground. I will not die without a fight. The Lethifold is above me, almost blocking out all the light, the blackness suffocating me while I try to summon a memory of Daphne, of father, of mother. But all that I remember is intertwined with darkness and death.

There is no more light, the world completely black around me. I fall to my knees, the pain of hitting the floor like a forgotten memory, barely reaching me through the darkness. My sister’s face floats at the front of my mind and I hold out hope.

With my last breath, I clutch my wand tighter and croak out the spell, wishing for the silvery form of a vixen to appear, to save me. But there is only darkness as the Lethifold engulfs me. Death is almost peaceful.

A flash of light and suddenly I can breathe again. My sight is murky but I make out the outline of a silver Chimaera running before me, the Lethifold drawing back, the light from my light bubble shining down on me. And a pair of strong arms holding me together while I break apart. Aeschylus’ raspy voice is the last thing I hear before I pass out.

After, I’m sitting at the back of a dingy pub somewhere in Berlin, away from Kreuzberg and that damn warehouse, nursing my third shot and second beer. Aeschylus strolls in, somehow finding me despite my best efforts to avoid being seen and followed. His one eye observes me as he sits down across the table and leans back.

“You plan on drinking yourself to death?” he says in a clear voice. Much clearer than my head. I just shrug and down the shot, wiping my face with my torn sleeve. I look like I died and came back, hair matted and bloody, clothes torn in places, but the other patrons ignore me. I guess they know my kind here.

Aeschylus eyes the small vial filled with red powder that my fingers are playing with, somehow still dexterous despite my state. He shakes his head. “Demondust? I should’ve known. Stop fucking up your fucking life, Astoria. You’ve only got the one.”

* * *

There is loud banging somewhere near me but my head hurts too much to be able to open my eyes, let alone to try and figure out where the banging is coming from. But each bang echoes in my head, multiplying, getting louder, feeling as if someone is stabbing at my brain with about a billion daggers.

I crack open an eye with some difficulty, all caked over with dark makeup, eyelashes sticking together and obscuring my view. I blink a couple of times to clear it up and when I finally manage to see my surroundings, I realise I’m lying on the floor of my flat, encircled by empty bottles and numerous vials, one of them still clutched in my hand.

My bones hurt as I try to flip myself to lie on my back and I groan in pain. There is something sticking out of my cheek and when I sluggishly raise a hand to touch it, I feel broken glass, sticky with blood.

The banging doesn’t stop, but now it’s joined by yelling. I recognise my sister’s voice and I wish I could just disappear. I don’t want to deal with her. But she is nothing if not persistent and I know she will just keep banging until I lose my mind.

I cough and clear my throat, feeling scratchy and hoarse. “It’s not locked!” I yell out, but it comes as half-croak. But Daphne hears me and storms in, opening the door wide and hitting my leg in the process. I ‘m too close to the fucking door. “Fuck!” I groan again and close my eyes.

Daphne stops in her tracks and even if I don’t see her, I can feel her eyes going wide at the state of me. Her perfume wafts to me and I gag, but thankfully nothing comes out. Yet.

“What the fuck happened to you? Did someone attack you? Do I need to get dad?” Daphne yells and I wince at the volume.

“Quiet, please,” I whimper out, putting a hand over my eyes to shield myself from the light that comes in when Daphne opens the curtains with a flick of her wand. “No one attacked me, I’m fine.”

“Fine? You’re lying on the floor, barely able to move and there’s blood on your head. There’s also some glass sticking out of you. If you call that fine, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

I mentally roll my eyes at her summary of everything that is wrong with me. Even that takes too much effort.

“What do you want, Daphne?” My eyes are still closed, but I can imagine the furious expression on her face, eyes blazing and one eyebrow twitching, knuckles white as she tries to calm down and not explode at me.

After clearing out some bottles with her leg, I feel her sitting down next to me. She puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. “I wanted to see how you were doing. Aeschylus told me about the test. He was worried about you. And you’re scaring me when I see you like this.”

I groan for what seems like the millionth time and it takes all my strength to turn away from her, move my body out of her reach. “You should be scared of me,” I whisper, tears in my eyes. War has poisoned me.

The bloody test. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to join the Aurors, but it had been on my mind for a long time and I couldn’t shake it off. Each time I would hear or read about some Death Eater raid or arrests being made, I would feel myself wanting to be the person who does that. Who fights against the bastards.

So I cockily walked into the Ministry of Magic, went straight to the Auror office and asked to be tested. It was just preliminary testing, to see what my abilities are, my mental state. And I hadn’t quite counted on that. Fucking idiot.

By the time the practical exam rolled around, I was certain that despite some of my more conflicting answers, I could get in, that I could join.

And then they brought the Dementor in.

At this point, trying to cast a Patronus is somewhat of an obsession. I fail and fail, again and again. Drunk, high, sober, I haven’t seen my Patronus in more than two years. There is something broken inside me. I am a dead person pretending to be alive.

I tried to fight the Dementor. I passed out surrounded with dead faces. I tried again. Passed out again. I did it twelve times before they had to drag me out of the exam room, pity in their eyes.

I don’t remember much after that except stumbling back to my flat, raiding all my hiding places and waking up to Daphne’s banging.

“Astoria, I want to help you,” Daphne says, her voice soft, caring, and I want to reach out but she’s too far away, it’s too hard and so I stay where I am. Damaged goods.

“You can’t help me,” I mutter, angry now, at myself, at her, at everything.

She stands up and I hear the door opening again. I know I’ve hurt her.

“Only because you won’t let me.”

* * *

There is a thunderstorm in my heart when I fuck Draco Malfoy at my uncle’s funeral. Then at New Years. It is a strange feeling, something I had forgotten I could feel. I had forgotten what it feels to be alive.

He is an outcast, despite the society giving him awards, he knows what he is. And I feel drawn to him, to a familiar soul, someone who is broken. In a different way, but he is still broken.

He lounges at my sofa, a drink in hand while I pace around the flat, trying my best not to spiral into damaging thoughts. The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is today and I am restless.

Draco’s grey eyes follow me around, but he’s silent because, somehow, he knows there is nothing he could say to make me feel better.

I know my demons. I know they’re lurking just beneath the surface, beneath my fake exterior and I am fighting. I don’t want to drown myself in the blackness of my mind.

“Astoria?” Draco murmurs, downing his drink and setting it on top of a pile of books cluttering my coffee table. I stop pacing for a moment and frown at him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, the question seemingly random but I have a feeling there is deeper meaning there.

I can’t seem to speak, my throat feeling dry but when my eyes meet his, I feel calmer than I’ve felt in days. I nod, still unable to utter a word. A smile plays on his face and involuntarily, I smile back at him. He gets up and takes my hand, a current buzzing between us, but I step back, not wanting to break my rule about not fucking him again. I need a friend.

“Get your cloak,” Draco says, tucking away his wand and donning his own cloak, looking at me expectantly. I realise I’ve been standing there, looking at the hand he touched with a dazed expression and I quickly get dressed, wondering what he has in mind.

We walk out of my building, the mass of people pulling us after them, celebrations all around, Diagon Alley decorated with sparks and colourful banners in honour of the anniversary, the end of the war.

They don’t know there is still a war raging in the minds of us who have lived.

We walk for half an hour in silence, each one of us lost in our own thoughts. Draco stops in front of a townhouse, the small garden in front well cared for and full of blooming flowers. He knocks three times and a tall, elegant woman, with black hair streaked grey, and aristocratic features opens the door. When she sees Draco, she smiles wide and envelops him in a hug, holding him close and I realise who she is.

They part and Draco motions me over. I am shaking because in front of me stands the woman who lost her entire family to the war that scarred me. And she’s giving me a kind smile. I feel small before her.

“Astoria, this is my aunt Andromeda,” Draco says and I nod mutely. I am on the verge of crying. And when the patter of tiny feet thunders out from inside the house and a small boy with hair the same shade as Draco’s appears, running straight for him, shouting his name and hugging his legs, tears just stream down my face.

Andromeda puts an arm around my shoulders and guides me inside, through the hallway filled with family pictures, almost half of them of Draco and Teddy together, and others of her dead daughter, dead husband, dead son-in-law. My heart hurts. I remember the only photograph I have of my friends and I almost collapse on the deep green velvet sofa.

I look up at Andromeda, her eyes so similar to Draco’s, but the rest of her is a softer version of the woman who murdered one of my best friends.

“How do you…” I start but words fail me, though Andromeda seems to know what I mean. Draco sits down next to me and wraps an arm around me protectively. I don’t shrug him off as I usually would. Teddy climbs on top of Draco and the three of us make an awkward trio, a mass of limbs tangled. But the way Draco lights up whenever Teddy is near breaks something inside me. One of the walls I’ve put up long ago.

“I have suffered,” Andromeda says, sighing deeply, remembering her loss, but there are no tears in her eyes, just sadness. “But I have Teddy. And Draco and my sister. They keep me going and they keep me sane even when I want to tear apart my own skin and crawl away from the pain. I remember them. I love them. And love is what has kept me alive.”

I can’t stop myself, can’t stop the tears and I start sobbing, the pain too great, my heart feeling as if it could explode any second, thumping loudly. I break down but suddenly, Draco is hugging me, his woodland scent a familiar thing, calming me down slightly, and then a pair of small hands grasp my own and between sobs I manage a teary smile.

I cry for a long time until my eyes are dry and I feel exhausted. But on the fluffy grey carpet, Draco is playing with Teddy while Andromeda prepares us lunch and I can’t stop smiling. His eyes meet my own and my smile just grows.

I feel a strong yearning for my own family, for this to be my every day, instead of my empty flat, my bottles and vials and my fighting. I want my father’s cooking, not just his strong presence. I want my mother’s hugs. I want my sister more than anything, strong, stable Daphne who loves me even when I hate her.

We walk back to my flat, Draco taking my hand in his own and I welcome the slight buzz I get.

“I… I know today is difficult. I know every day is difficult. But did it help? Aunt Andromeda says you’re welcome to stop by any time you want to talk. Says it helps her to talk about things. Or sit in silence,” he says, stopping me before entering my building. He brushes a stray hair from my face, lightly touching my cheek and I can’t help the smile.

“Thank you… This was… I’m not…,” I try to say something, but words don’t seem good enough. So I step closer to Draco and wrap my hands around his neck, hugging him. And before I can get any forbidden ideas, I walk inside, waving at him.

My flat is a familiar place for brooding, but for the first time in a long while, I open up a window, let the fresh air in and smile when I’m alone. When there is no audience to fool.

My hand instinctively wraps around my wand. I feel confident now, believing I could do this. I could be better. At least today.

And when I close my eyes, I remember Draco and the way I feel around him, remember Daphne and my family, remember little Teddy, and I brace myself.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” I shout and crack my eyes open, almost ready to be disappointed.

But the sight of a silvery vixen, jumping happily in the air around me, makes me feel the familiar thunderstorm in my heart.

I am a dead person, but I am coming back to life.

**Author's Note:**

> demondust - drug name credit to Pierce Brown. i'm not creative enough to have come up with the name.  
> shadows and monsters as the chapter title was taken from halsey's control.


End file.
